The Mercy of Gods Who: Sindra, Sandro li Saverio Where: Floating on the wreckage of a small sailing ship When: Day 43 Rating: PG Status: Open to Ambassador Sandro li Saverio
The storm had devoured the ship, crashing waves like the jaws of some leviathan shattering the wood into useless splinters. All souls on board lost; Sindra did not count hers among them, for that was to assume her soul was hers to lose. She was in the hands of the gods, may they be merciful.
Strangely, it was not the storm that frightened her, but its aftermath. In that cold and endless silent dark, carried by the rhythm of the abyss beneath her towards the open sea, she felt the stalking presence of some terrible thing. Its great and ponderous heartbeat, not so much heard as felt, deep in her belly, deeper, in her bones.
Weary, Sindra lay down on the drowning wood and waited for the black beneath her to finally swallow her or take her to shore. For a moment before sleep took her, she thought she saw the shadow peering back at her, like a reflection in dragonglass. There was morning light spilling clear and perfect on the horizon when she woke to the sounds of men shouting in Lysene. She raised herself to look up at a great ship slicing through the water alongside her, her saffron gown soaked to the skin and bedraggled from the violence of the storm.
I am yours, she thought to the gods as the sailors moved to fetch her. And ever shall I be. It was not so much a prayer, as a lament.